Won't Come Easy
by Jedi Buttercup
Summary: FAST FIVE SPOILERS. "Agent Bilkins," Hobbs said. "What can the DSS do for you?"
1. Won't Come Easy

**Title**: Won't Come Easy

**Author**: Jedi Buttercup

**Rating**: K+

**Disclaimer**: The words are mine; the worlds are not.

**Summary**: _"Agent Bilkins," Hobbs said. "What can the DSS do for you?"_ 1500 words.

**Spoilers**: Fast Five (2011); references the whole series

**Notes**: This movie. [fans self] Somehow, my brain crunched all that heat over and came up with gen, go figure. Set post-movie, but before the little post-credits tag scene.

* * *

The day after Hobbs got back to the office, an FBI agent showed up. An older guy, nearing retirement; name of Bilkins, a face Hobbs recognized from his files.

Bilkins came off mild-mannered when he walked in, politely dismissing the agent who'd showed him to Hobbs' door, a cup of coffee in one hand. Hobbs knew better than to take him at face value, though. The people who passed through his doors- or his custody- were rarely actually defined by what they displayed for public view.

He straightened in his chair, feeling the pull along his ribs from the last of the bruises from the mess in Rio, and steepled his fingers on the desk. "Agent Bilkins," he said. "What can the DSS do for you?"

"I think you know why I'm here," Bilkins said, settling casually into the chair across from Hobbs.

Hobbs gave him an unimpressed look. "O'Connor," he said. Bilkins had run the former federal officer undercover twice, the first time back when the blond adrenaline junkie had been a cop in California, the second time the job in Miami that led to the first indiscretion with Toretto being swept under the rug. Bad judgment call, from Hobbs' point of view. But presumably Bilkins had had his reasons.

"Toretto," Bilkins agreed. "He got to you, too."

Hobbs narrowed his eyes at him. "They got away during the fight with Reyes," he said, firmly.

"Uh-huh," Bilkins nodded at him, the corner of his mouth turning up a little. "Funny how no one ever seems able to keep Toretto in custody."

Hobbs took a deep breath, and let it out. No sense working his temper up over this. His report _had_ been a little thin on the details of what had happened between the murder of his team and the confrontation that had resulted in Reyes' death. He could hardly have confessed to being a party to a hundred million dollar heist and the fugitives' subsequent escape. When he'd made the offer of a twenty-four hour head start, he'd done so expecting that they'd be on limited funds, with the money safely in _his_ custody- and the mitigating knowledge that it had undoubtedly been Reyes' men, not Toretto and O'Connor, who'd killed the DEA agents whose deaths brought him to Rio in the first place.

He'd made the mistake of underestimating them, after all his lectures on just how dangerous they could be. But he had to admire their talent, their dedication- and their sheer balls. And unless he missed his guess, Bilkins did, too.

"Funny," Hobbs agreed, a wry twist to his mouth, "isn't the word I'd choose. I'll track them down eventually; there's nowhere they can run that I won't find them."

"Good," Bilkins nodded, smile widening. "I was hoping you'd say that."

Hobbs blinked at the Fed, then drummed his fingers on the desktop for a moment. "Why exactly are you here?" he asked, taken aback by Bilkins' cheerful statement.

Bilkins didn't answer; instead, he leaned forward and slipped a file onto Hobbs' desk.

Hobbs flattened a palm over it, staring at Bilkins for a moment longer, then shook his head and flipped the folder open. There were two sheaves of paper inside, stapled separately and fronted with mugshots- one for Carter Verone, the Customs problem O'Connor had wrapped in Miami, and another for Arturo Braga, the cross-border drug-runner whose takedown operation had killed Toretto's girlfriend and set O'Connor and the Torettos on the run in the first place.

"I recognize them," he said.

"I thought you might," Bilkins nodded. "What you might not know is that Braga's been in contact with Verone since he went into the system. We don't have any specifics, but the rumors aren't pretty, and we won't be able to keep Verone behind bars much longer."

Two drug lord scumbags, both jailed through O'Connor's efforts, joining forces: that didn't bode well, for either the former agent or the 'War on Drugs' in general. Still. "You think he'll have any more success tracking these guys down?"

"Maybe, maybe not," Bilkins shrugged. "But you might want to keep an eye on his movements, if you're serious about wanting to bring Toretto and O'Connor in alive."

Something about the way Bilkins referred to the fugitive pair niggled at the back of Hobbs' mind, and he frowned at him. "You talk about Toretto and O'Connor like they're joined at the hip. But they weren't travelling together between the border and Brazil. And they certainly weren't working together when you ran O'Connor in Miami. If Verone tracks O'Connor down he might get the sister, too, sure. But all indications are O'Connor and Toretto split again after Rio." So much for taking them as a team.

He'd seen the connection himself. The driving they'd done, dragging those vaults through the streets of Rio- Hobbs had whistled in admiration when he'd watched the footage back later. _Precision_ wasn't an accurate enough term. It was like they'd been reading each others' minds, pulling stunts they couldn't possibly have rehearsed ahead of time. But there was nothing in their files that explained why O'Connor had been so effortlessly accepted back into Toretto's group after five years and what must have seemed like some pretty significant betrayals. They had nothing in common on the surface except for a passion for cars- and Mia Toretto.

Hobbs could still hear the ring of that wrench hitting the concrete by his ear, and the look on Toretto's face as his sister screamed his name- that trapped expression when the penny dropped there was no way out for him _or_ his team. Hobbs had genuinely feared for his life, something that almost never happened, especially in a physical confrontation. Toretto was a man who felt deeply, and didn't know how to back down. Obviously that appealed to O'Connor- and Neves, and even, though he'd never admit it, Hobbs himself to a degree. But he wanted to hear what Bilkins thought would make Toretto risk himself for _O'Connor_.

Bilkins raised his eyebrows at him. "Toretto has been losing people he cares about to violence since he was a teenager. Parents. Friends. His woman. And O'Connor- the shrinks will tell you he joined the force after juvie in search of a sense of belonging he never had growing up. My guess is, they recognized something in each other when they met. And now that word has it O'Connor's giving Toretto a niece or nephew..." He shrugged. "It would be smarter for them to travel separately, sure. But odds are you take on one, the other will be right behind him."

A kid would definitely complicate matters. A family... hell.

The job was still the job, and Hobbs was pretty sure Bilkins still hadn't got to the real point of the conversation. "At least it'll make it easier to bring them in," he replied, closing the folder.

"Maybe- for you," Bilkins said, nodding.

"Why me?" Hobbs frowned at him, nonplused. "And _don't_ say because they got to me."

"Because whatever happened down in Brazil- they've seen you in action. Enough to respect you, maybe let their guard down more than they would with most cops. There are maybe five law enforcement professionals on the _planet_ you can say that about, if you include myself and Sergeant Tanner in L.A.- and neither of us are known to Toretto."

"Who are the other two?" Hobbs asked, digesting that.

Bilkins shrugged, laughing a little. "Neves. And the customs agent O'Connor and his friend Pearce worked with- Monica Fuentes."

"Ah." Hobbs nodded. Elena Neves had stayed on duty in the favela after Reyes' death, continuing the work her husband had died for- but she'd started disappearing for 'vacations', and Hobbs had a pretty good idea who she was spending them with. She'd be no help orchestrating an arrest. As for Fuentes- well, she didn't know Toretto, either. And Hobbs wouldn't want to stake an operation on whether she was still soft on O'Connor.

"So... you came here to, what. Give me a little more background?" Hobbs asked, skeptically.

"To commiserate," Bilkins chuckled. "The aftermath of L.A.- the first time- wasn't pretty. And, well. They're criminals, unquestionably. But they're useful- and I have a feeling it'll come in handy to have them in our pockets again someday. There aren't many with their skills, and the principles to use them without unduly endangering innocent bystanders. Whatever tools I can give you to help you bring them in with minimum loss of life, I felt duty bound to offer. You know they won't come easy."

Hobbs scrutinized the agent a moment longer, then sighed and nodded. "Nothing worthwhile ever does, though," he said, wryly.

"I'm glad we had this conversation," Bilkins replied, smiling. Then he stood, offering his hand.

Hobbs shook it, and stared after the FBI agent as he walked out the door. Then he turned to look up Monica Fuentes' contact information.

Couldn't hurt to see if she had more information to offer.

-x-


	2. Baiting the Tiger

**Title**: Baiting the Tiger

**Author**: Jedi Buttercup

**Disclaimer**: The words are mine; the worlds are not.

**Rating**: T

**Spoilers**: Fast Five (2011); references the whole series.

**Summary**: _Hobbs had a pretty good idea what to expect when he met Customs Agent Monica Fuentes._ 1500 words.

**Notes**: Gen; sort of a follow-up/bracket to my previous movie tag, "Won't Come Easy." More character exploration notes on the road to a potential Fast Six.

* * *

Days later, Hobbs still couldn't get O'Conner's arrogant smirk out of his mind.

For an asshole who'd betrayed everything the badge stood for, he still had an investigator's instincts for conversation. He'd known just what to say, and when, to push Hobbs' buttons; and he'd been no less incisive with Toretto's crew- which should probably be more accurately called Toretto and O'Conner's crew, if the glimpses Hobbs had seen were normal behavioral patterns.

The FBI files were wrong; O'Conner's defection couldn't have been a case of an officer bought and heeling at his mark's command, or a fool caught by the short hairs looking the other way for his lover's brother. Either situation should have led to an inequality in the group dynamics that just wasn't there. O'Conner had been a full partner in the heist planning, enough so that all their other associates had looked to him as much as Toretto for leadership.

That made it worse, in some respects; a weak man Hobbs might have been able to scorn and write off as a less important target than Toretto, but Brian O'Conner was anything but weak. If Toretto had been the star of that little group before O'Conner came along, they were a much more powerful binary system now, drawing in anyone with the misfortune to cross their paths, one way or another.

Even, or so gossip back at headquarters already had it, the previously unstoppable Lucas Hobbs himself.

"Quite the mess," he'd told O'Conner, shaking his head over the wreckage the pair had made of Rio.

"Yeah, it is," O'Conner had said simply, grinning back at him, as though he knew something Hobbs didn't.

And then they'd disappeared with all their money _and_ his promise of a twenty-four hour grace period, leaving him in a town that had just lost one of its richest citizens, a vast number of corrupt senior law enforcement officers- and the carefully welcoming image Reyes had spent years abetting in advance of the city's bid to host the 2014 World Cup. All of that damage, physical and political, would be laid at Hobbs' door. And even if his superiors agreed it had been the price of doing business... well, he'd met John McClane after that Thomas Gabriel mess a few years back. He'd seen what that kind of wrecking-ball reputation could do to a career.

And if it ever came out that Hobbs had been actively assisting, not just trying to stop them... hell, he'd be fortunate not to face censure as it was. He'd _caught_ them, fair and square; he'd done his job to the letter until the ambush. But everything that had happened after that... he'd made choices he wouldn't be able to retract. Part of that had been the anger and grief driving him, true; but he couldn't deny that there'd been other factors involved as well.

Toretto had offered his hand, there in the street, when it would have made his life easier to let Reyes' men kill him. He'd taken Hobbs at his word and read him into the plan the moment he'd volunteered to help strike Reyes. And before that- he'd had the presence of mind to pull his blow when he'd had that wrench in hand, Hobbs under him, and a threat to everything he held dear for motivation. Somewhere along the line, Toretto had developed control enough to leash the beast under his skin. He wasn't just the brutal thug in his file anymore. He was dangerous- but also worthy of a certain wary respect.

Hobbs could see, now, how he'd managed to draw in a punk like O'Conner, who had so few other interpersonal bonds in his life. The bright, beautiful sister wouldn't have hurt matters, either. And all the other ridiculously competent people who'd coalesced around that little nuclear unit: any law enforcement organization would give their eyeteeth for a team with those skills. Hobbs' men had kept up with them, but only just, and they'd been the best the FBI and the DSS had to offer.

It was going to take a hell of a lot of luck for Hobbs to catch them again. Good luck on his part: the right intel, a strong team, and a fucking tiger cage of a plan. And bad luck for the Torettos and O'Conner: another entanglement like Reyes drawing them up above radar, or an observant officer in exactly the right place at exactly the right time. They were too experienced at running to invite notice otherwise. And if they were smart, they wouldn't travel together, either, which would only multiply the problem.

Hobbs swore under his breath as he started filling in the next set of paperwork. This was going to be the case that just kept on giving, he was sure of it.

* * *

Hobbs had a pretty good idea what to expect when he met Customs Agent Monica Fuentes. She'd been undercover in Carter Verone's organization for nearly a year, so she had to be smart as well as gorgeous; and she'd earned O'Conner's cooperation, so he was willing to bet on sassy, too, with an undercarriage of iron.

She lived up to those expectations and more. Hobbs liked what he saw of her as he shook her hand: attractively dressed, badge prominent on her belt, with a firm, no-nonsense expression.

He liked her attitude even better: she neither deferred to him nor tried to assert her own superiority, standing her ground in high-heeled pumps that gave her just enough extra height to put her on eye-level with his mouth. She lost no time informing him that she hadn't heard from Brian O'Conner since he'd helped take down Verone- and that considering the threat she would also face from Verone when the former drug lord got out of prison, she'd be more than willing to assist with Hobbs' investigation.

Which was fair enough. He believed her, as far as that went, and her Customs background gave her a valuable alternate perspective on the case. It was a pity her taste in men seemed to lean toward devil-may-care white boys, but she was a decent cop. One he wouldn't mind having on his team- if she'd trade those heels of hers in for something with a little more traction.

Over the months that passed after Rio, as he slowly put a new team together, proved to the agency all over again that he was the baddest motherfucker they had on the payroll, and checked a bunch of other names off his list, they slowly assembled a pretty good picture of where the satellite members of the group had scattered to. Without solid physical evidence- like hell Hobbs was going to point out the old factory building full of his _own_ prints to federal crime scene investigators- the warrants for Toretto and O'Conner's associates had lapsed, leaving them all free to travel. Gifted escape artists or not, sooner or later each of them crossed an electronically surveilled border he could monitor, mostly in pairs, and washed up in urban centers in various corners of the world.

If they ever gathered again, Hobbs would be there before the dust settled. But until then, the much trickier targets of the Toretto family trio continued to evade every tracking method accessible to him. Without paying obscene amounts of money to send private investigators into Rocinha favela to track Rosa Matthews' and Elena Neves' every move, he had limited options available to improve his chances. For a group as memorable as they were- all absurdly attractive, strong-willed, and restless- they were remarkably good at fading into the woodwork. Even when that woodwork wasn't neon-lit, or sand and surf.

But there was one thing he knew for sure could draw them out, one thing he'd seen firsthand could make them damn the consequences. He wouldn't endanger the friend's widow or her kid to make it happen. But when Monica arrived with a file containing Leticia Ortiz' picture and news of a high-speed heist in Germany...

_Family_: that was Toretto's weak point. The reappearance of the girlfriend he'd buried the year before would knock over his applecart, if he didn't already know- and Neves' continued 'vacations' were pretty suggestive of the fact that he didn't. In fact, going by the Braga file, maybe only one or two people did: the unnamed first responders who'd arrived at the wreck and examined Ortiz' body. _They'd_ been the ones to report her badly burned, shot and most importantly _deceased_ before her handler had ever been notified, and it had been a closed casket funeral.

Something stank to high heaven about that. Context wasn't _his_ problem, though. All that mattered was that their luck was finally in.

Hobbs grinned in satisfaction and arranged to have a suitably notated copy of the image faxed to Neves' desk at the delegacia de polícia in Rio. If anyone would have Toretto's contact number, she would.

It was time to pack his bags. Lucas Hobbs was going to Berlin.

-x-


	3. Six Thousand Miles From Freedom

**Title**: Six Thousand Miles From Freedom

**Author**: Jedi Buttercup

**Disclaimer**: The words are mine; the worlds are not.

**Rating**: T

**Spoilers**: Fast Five (2011); references previous movies and Los Bandoleros

**Summary**: _It wasn't the first time Letty had composed a postcard to Dom in her mind, and she was pretty sure it wouldn't be the last._ 1500 words.

**Notes**: First try at Letty; another post-Fast Five character exploration ficlet. Spoilery for the scene after the credits!

* * *

Her walkie talkie clicked twice, the signal to move in, and Letty gunned the engine, eyes fixed on the approaching lights of the convoy. It almost felt like old home week; dark cars, dark clothes, the hum of a highway rolling by under her tires, a dark sky sprinkled with stars and smeared bright with city-glow along the horizon.

"Dear Dom," she muttered under her breath, narrowing her eyes as the matching cars ahead of and behind her broke to the sides to begin their maneuvering. "Thought of you today, papa. Robbed a truck full of something a lot more valuable than DVD players. Hope you're not letting the skanks climb all over you, 'cause your ass _will_ be grass when I finally find you. Where the hell are you, anyway? I'm getting sick of these busters. Love, Letty."

It wasn't the first time she'd composed a postcard to him in her mind, and she was pretty sure it wouldn't be the last. Wherever her man had gone after Brian and Mia broke him off the bus to Lompoc, it hadn't been anywhere her contacts could find him- and she wasn't exactly free to track him down herself. Dead women on the run from cops and goons alike really couldn't afford to travel alone.

She pulled up alongside the last military truck in the line in tandem with another driver, both of them slowing carefully as a third zoomed into the space between that truck and the next in line. They'd had an inside man tell them which truck to cut out and make sure the convoy was in the right order; a good thing, or they'd be facing a lot more than a handful of soldiers. She looked up, waiting for the glint of a gun in the window- then swerved wide as the driver fired, flinching as a bullet shattered the rear signal light.

The blocking driver kept gradually standing on his brakes, regardless of the bullets hitting his rear panels, and Letty swerved again, pulling back just far enough to slide back into the truck's blind spot. The driver would have to lean out to fire at her again, and in the meantime, she could hear Devon's engine revving on the other side. She took a deep breath, listening avidly for the next shot- then pulled back out on her side to provide the next distraction. She'd been livid when she'd found out they _expected_ to catch live rounds on this one, but at least the boss had thought far enough ahead for bulletproofing. Not like the time she'd faced a shotgun in a Honda; there'd be no Vinces here.

She reached up to ghost a hand over the scars on her cheek, thinking of Vince's arm and older seams in her own skin, and wondered idly if she and Dom would still be able to fall back together like they'd never been apart if she _did_ find him. It had been a long time, a lot of road for both of them. How long was too long, before ripping off old scabs did more damage than the initial injury?

She'd been in a fucking coma for _weeks_ after that car wreck, and while she'd been busy recovering from contusions, second degree burns and a gunshot wound, a charred body had turned up in the morgue with her name on the toe tag. Leticia Ortiz had been rendered anonymous before she ever woke, and Dom had been locked behind bars before she was conscious long enough to spill what she knew about Braga's organization. It had taken even longer for her to realize that the dudes holding her _weren't_ actually feds trying to keep her safe in witness protection; they were some other group with money and a slick-suited payroll looking for leverage on Dom- or Brian- or Braga.

She hadn't stuck around to find out which, cuffed to her sickbed or not. Maybe that had been a stupid decision, maybe not; but either way, it hadn't been the first choice she'd had to make without stopping to look back. She'd been badly wounded, with who knew what goons after her, and she hadn't wanted to risk what the feds might do if she turned up alive again out of nowhere. Instead, she'd nosed around just enough to hear what happened to Dom, Braga, and Brian, then called one of the new contacts she'd made since returning to L.A. to see if he could find her a secure way out of the States.

If she'd been smart, Letty would have gone to ground, contacted Leon, and waited for the dust to settle. But she hadn't been thinking straight, and the symmetry had felt somehow appropriate, since _she_ was suddenly the one wearing the target. It wasn't as though they needed her, not while everyone was in a holding pattern awaiting Dom's trial. And it was her turn to be the one doing the leaving, for a change.

Dom loved her- she _knew_ he loved her- but it had never been enough to keep him with her. Not after L.A., not in Mexico, and not in the Dominican Republic. He wouldn't even have called her in on the fuel truck jobs if she hadn't found him first. Leaving the money for her had been bad enough, like it somehow made him less of an asshole to provide for her in absentia; but the necklace... fuck.

She'd given him that silver cross when they'd been teenagers, and he'd worn it every day he hadn't been in prison since. Even when she found him with a racebunny on each arm, that necklace spilled down his chest like her own private brand-mark: an assurance that he still knew whose bed he belonged in. Letty's territory, no skanks welcome here. Leaving it behind had been one fuck-you of a goodbye, whatever noble shit he'd had in mind when he did it. Like he thought she'd have a better life without him. So. Why shouldn't she?

The military truck was fishtailing a little as its driver hit the brakes, trying to back out of their little pocket rather than letting himself be tamely herded to a halt. Then he wrenched on the wheel, aiming for Devon- just enough to send the other driver veering into the verge, before he pulled a much sharper left over into Letty's lane.

Letty swore as the sidepanel of the much heavier vehicle clipped the forward right corner of her car. She'd stomped the brake pedal at the first sign of impending conflict, but not enough, and the world whirled around her as the contact sent her spinning. "Fuck!" She pounded the steering wheel as she screeched to a halt, then shifted gears and hit the gas again, trying to get back into position. The passenger in the leading car was supposed to have incapacitated the driver already- but there was no accounting for amateurs. She should have insisted she do it. But the boss didn't trust her that far. She still owed him for her freedom, but that didn't mean as much to these people as it should.

The problem with dealing with other criminals, she'd discovered, was actually _dealing_ with other criminals. Before Letty had followed a rumor about Braga's mule system up from Mexico and gone to Brian to barter for Dom's freedom, she'd never realized just how much Robin Hood bullshit there was in Dom's finger to the cops lifestyle. The real crooks, like that _cabrón_ Fenix and his boss, spent lives like currency and never even trusted their own mothers; she was tough enough to handle it, but she missed the surety of knowing that someone had her back. Dom had always treated his team like family, and they'd _become_ family, even when they really shouldn't have, and she missed it.

Letty'd wanted to hate Brian so badly for that; because of him, the people she loved most had been scattered to the four winds. But it was also true that he'd saved Dom and Vince... and she'd seen the look in his eye when she turned up on his stoop. It had been the same look as the one Mia gave her when she came back from the DR: part shock, part welcome, part 'what the fuck has Dom done now'. It had pissed Letty off, but it had also told her that going to him had been the right thing to do.

He was a fucked up guy, Brian. But he'd lived up to his promise, even with the feds reneging. Dom was free again. Free enough to tear Rio to the ground, at least, because someone had fucked with Vince-that rumor had passed through the racer's network like a wildfire.

What would he do to Berlin if he found out she was here?

She pulled up even with the slowing truck again, and wondered if it would be worth reaping the whirlwind to leave a fingerprint behind this time.

-x-


End file.
